


Perdonare

by Crisplies



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018), The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everyone Loves Patroclus, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Power Bottom Achilles, Sad Achilles (Hades Video Game), Service Top Patroclus, achilles loves patroclus a whole lot he's just very stupid, and Achilles is grumpy about it lol, as it should be lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29799924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crisplies/pseuds/Crisplies
Summary: In which Achilles finds Patroclus in Elysium and forgiveness is not earned so easily.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	Perdonare

**Author's Note:**

> Hi yes, I remember when I read SOA and I personally thought that Pat should have given Achilles a little bit of a harder time with everything that he pulled and when I played the video game Hades that furthered that opinion and there is literally no other fic (that I could find at least) that had Achilles having to fight for Patroclus's forgiveness so I have had to take things into my own hands lmao hope y'all like it!

Patroclus sat at the banks of the River Lethe, absentmindedly raising his hand to let one of the many blue butterflies that flitted around him land on his finger. He doesn’t know why these little creatures like to surround him so, but he appreciates their presence nonetheless. He watches the small butterfly on his index finger flutter its glowing wings in a way that he would’ve once thought as beautiful, but now he felt… nothing. 

The air was cool and moist this close to the river; the current of memories had an indescribable presence, it was at the same time soothing and overwhelming, like being in the presence of a god. It was a living thing in and of itself and Patroclus found a sense of comfort resting so close to its misty waters. 

He does not remember much from his passing into the underworld. He remembers Thetis carving his name next to his Achilles’s own on their grave, and he remembers his soul being tugged gently down, down,  _ down _ . But after that his memory becomes blurry, he does not remember entering the Underworld, or the boatman Chiron, or anything he was told to expect when he inevitably passed. Instead, he woke up in Elysium covered in burns that no one could explain, and a horrible feeling of  _ wrongness  _ in his chest, like he wasn’t meant to be here. And truly, he could not figure out why he was placed in the Fields of Heroes, especially when his Achilles wasn’t by his side when he woke. Because where would his love be if not in Elysium? And yet, he was nowhere to be found.

As soon as his burns had been healed by the soothing air of Elysium, Patroclus had set off to find Achilles. He searched everywhere, from the Colosseum (for surely his Achilles would not miss the chance to battle the best the fields of heroes had to offer), to the very fringes of Elysium where the only thing that lingered were transparent shades of long-forgotten heroes on the verge of fading into nothingness. Seeing the empty husks of men who were nothing but numb silhouettes had terrified him and Patroclus had quickly fled closer to the heart of the eternal fields.

In this place, he did not grow tired, but as time passed his soul grew weary. And oh, how his soul  _ ached  _ for his Achilles. It felt as if were missing a limb, as if there was a gaping chasm at his side where his love usually was but now  _ wasn’t.  _ But there was nothing else he could do but search; at first, with stubborn determination but as time went on and on his will began to falter and he was left feeling helpless and hopeless. 

In his wanderings, he eventually stumbled across Hector. To say their conversation had been… awkward would be an understatement, but the warrior of Troy had stood before him and apologized for the way he had killed him and Patroclus found no hate in his heart for Hector and readily forgave him. They both had been pawns for the Gods anyway, neither of them were really at fault for all that had happened. The two of them parted ways on good terms and Patroclus had felt lighter because of it. 

Despite that, his fruitless search continued and it was as if Achilles had never existed at all. In his desperation, Patroclus marched up to the gates of Elysium and confronted Rhadamanthus himself, one of the judges of the underworld, on where Achilles was. The judge had regarded Patroclus with scorn that rivaled Thetis herself, began spitting that Patroclus wasn’t meant to wander his fields and to leave his presence before his patience ran thin. But Patroclus stood fast under the overwhelming anger of a god and was punished greatly for his piousness. He still shudders thinking about the slashes of fire that scorched the expanse of his back; he doesn’t even have scars to show for the pain he was subject to, because a soul cannot be scarred.

Next, he had waited along the main current of the Lethe for the boatman Chiron to pass by. It took an indescribable amount of time, but Patroclus was out of options at that point, and this was probably his last hope to get answers. What felt like weeks passed by before the boatman’s dark silhouette came into view from around the bend of the river. 

“Lord Chiron!” Patroclus called out, and the god turned his shadowed head towards him, and he wordlessly pushed his oar into the misty river to steer towards the bank. The boatman held out a skeletal hand to Patroclus expectantly as he came to a stop in front of the man, and it took Patroclus a long moment to realize what he wanted. “Forgive me, my lord, I have no drachma but--” 

Chiron  _ growled  _ at him and made a move to continue on his way up the river, “Wait!” he begged, “You are tasked with guiding souls into the underworld, are you not?  _ Please,  _ I have to know, is Achilles son of Peleus  _ somewhere  _ in the underworld?”

The boatman  _ groaned  _ like Patroclus was horribly inconveniencing him, before nodding once. Elated, Patroclus grinned at the skeletal figure in front of him, “Please, can you tell me where he is? I need to find him!” he begged desperately. 

The boatman scrutinized him a moment before giving a firm shake of his head before digging his oar into the water and setting off down the river. “W-wait, please!” but Chiron ignored him, even as Patroclus followed him along the bank all the way to the borders of Elysium, begging for answers. 

Patroclus managed to make his way to a quiet glade before collapsing next to the river, his soul so weighed down by hurt and loneliness he could no longer find the will to stand. And it is in that glade he remained. It is impossible to tell time in Elysium, there is no night here (which Patroclus  _ loathed,  _ the days here were constant and monotonous and absolutely  _ boring),  _ but surely decades had passed him by. Probably more, for the longer he remained here he began to fall into a sleep-like state where he was practically dead to the world around him. 

He was fading, that much was obvious. Eventually, Patroclus would end up like the many robed faceless figures that wandered the fields of Elysium and he wouldn’t be…  _ him  _ anymore. And as the centuries went on and he was left alone in these eternal fields that thought wasn’t quite as scary as it used to be. He found himself indulging in the Lethe’s waters more and more. Just one sip, he would tell himself when the memories grew too painful, but it was becoming a habit now and Patroclus wondered idly how much longer he had left before he was no longer himself. 

Suddenly he heard someone step into his glade, he didn’t bother looking up. It was probably the Prince of Hell attempting yet another escape attempt, after all. Zagreus was the only person that ever passed through his little patch of Elysium anyways. But as the new arrival came hesitantly closer and there wasn’t the telltale sound of singeing grass, but instead nearly inaudible sandaled feet against soft moss and stone, his stomach dropped. He knew those steps. He knew them better than he knew the sound of his own breath. 

The man,  _ Achilles,  _ came to a stop just as he stepped over the small stone bridge and Patroclus heard him take in a sharp intake of breath at the sight of him. Patroclus focused on the butterfly on his hand stubbornly, the dozen other small creatures flitting around him lazily in the cool light of Elysium. 

Patroclus had imagined this moment so many times in his head, he had rehearsed what he would say countless times more. Had imagined Achilles groveling on his knees for forgiveness. Imagined him embracing him and kissing him and refusing to let go. In his idle daydreams, Patroclus had been a furious whirlwind of self-righteous anger and unforgiving contempt, enough to even scare the mighty Aristos Archeon. But now that Achilles was here, all those rehearsed speeches and terrible words he had thought up in his hurt and anger are gone. 

“How long has it been, Achilles?” it took every bit of his self-control not to turn his head and look upon his long-lost love. He knew that with one look he would forgive Achilles for  _ everything _ , and a selfish part of him that had been allowed to grow and consume him in his isolation wanted to hold onto this hurt, this anger, for as long as possible. Instead, he turned his hand as the butterfly on his palm crawled over onto his knuckles and kept his gaze firmly locked on the small creature’s wings. 

He heard the man shuffle his feet nervously, which almost made him laugh. He had never once seen Achilles nervous about anything; he had always had an unshakeable confidence about him, even when he faced down whole armies with nothing but a spear and shield. But now? Now, Achilles was terrified. Patroclus could tell that much without even looking at him; he stood stiffly, nervously gripping his spear, and his breathing was ragged and shaky. 

“ _ Patroclus _ ,” his name left Achilles’ lips as if it had been punched out of him. Patroclus closed his eyes and exhaled heavily through his nose, a shiver wracking up his spine at the sound of the other man’s lips forming his name. Gods, it felt as if he had been struck by Zeus’s lightning, even his fingers began to tingle at just three syllables. How pathetic indeed. 

“I’ve heard you got a job with Lord Hades,” he gritted, heat boiling in his stomach “Finally decide to visit shades of your past, huh?”

Achilles blanched as if he were struck, “M-my love, it is not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” he muttered bitterly. 

“ _ No.”  _ the man before him said firmly, “ _ Patroclus,  _ Hades gave me an ultimatum, your eternal paradise for my servitude.” 

_ Oh, so that was it? _ Patroclus thought to himself sardonically. It was not in his nature to be so angry and bitter, but cannot find it within himself to care. He was finally facing the man he has in equal parts loved and frustrated with and his emotions are running so high he can’t reign them in as well as he would usually be able to. 

The butterfly on his finger flew away. 

“You’re a coward,” he hissed, his head bowed and dark hair falling into his eyes. Something horrible and twisting constricting his heart and making it hard to breathe. 

Achilles flinched, “What?” he whispered brokenly. 

Patroclus’s head shot up, his dark brown eyes glassy with anger and hurt, and finally looked upon Achilles. The man actually flinched as their eyes locked and Patroclus felt a spark of cruel satisfaction at that. “You once promised me that not even the gods themselves would keep us apart, and yet here we are. You’ve become Hades’ lap dog and -- and  _ abandoned  _ me in these fields to fade away into nothingness.”

Achilles took a step forward, hand half-raised as if he wanted to reach out and touch, “You don’t understand, Hades would’ve thrown you into Tartarus if I did not do as he said,” he explained desperately, his voice cracking somewhere in the middle. 

“The fiery depths of Tartarus would’ve been a comfort compared to this gilded cage  _ you  _ locked me in,” Patroclus snapped back, stubbornly ignoring the tear that slid down his cheek.

Achilles looked  _ shattered,  _ his broad shoulders hunched up to his ears, and… and he was crying. Silent tears slid down his cheeks and yet he did not look away from Patroclus, like he couldn’t bear to. The man stumbled forwards and fell to his knees at his feet, his spear thrown to the side. “No, no,  _ no,  _ Patroclus,  _ please.  _ My love, please, y-you  _ have  _ to understand, everything I did… I did for you,  _ please. _ Lord Hades wouldn’t even let me leave the palace, I-I was tasked with teaching Prince Zagreus, I couldn’t leave, my love, I couldn’t leave.” He was trembling, his voice almost hysteric. 

A realization struck Patroclus then, “You didn’t even try,” he said numbly. Achilles was shaking on his knees, staring up at him with glassy green eyes. He couldn’t help it, he laughed. The irony was just too much to bear, 

Their entire life, Patroclus had struggled believing he was worthy enough to stand by Achilles’ side. He was nothing, an exiled prince, an orphan, a mortal. He wasn’t a warrior by any means, he hated fighting and hated killing even more. He wasn’t even a beauty, his features were terribly average especially when standing next to Achilles. There was never anything… special about him. And sure, Achilles would always proclaim otherwise, but this was proof wasn’t it? Oh, while Patroclus had been searching relentlessly, even going so far as to confront the Guardians of Elysium, Achilles had been living it up in a  _ palace _ , of all places. 

His laughter was a strangled ugly thing, and Achilles kneeled frozen at his feet, eyes wide and unable to defend himself in the face of his lover’s accusation, because it was  _ true.  _ Oh gods, it was true. Achilles didn’t even  _ try  _ to find him, all these years… he did  _ nothing. _ Patroclus felt as if his heart were breaking all over again, he wanted to scream, to shove Achilles away, but at the same time, he was terrified that if he did so the man would run away with his tail tucked between his legs and never come back at all and that was an even more haunting thought. 

And that was even worse. He wasn’t sure Achilles would come back if this meeting ended badly; and deep down he did not want that, not at all. 

It took him too long to realize that his hysterical laughter had dissolved into great heaving sobs, he pressed his palm to his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. His shoulders shaking as he curled further into himself, he wanted so bad to reach over into the Lethe and scoop out a mouthful of the river’s misty water to numb this heartbreak. But he doesn’t, because Achilles is suddenly grasping his free hand with shaky warm fingers. A bolt of warmth shoots through him at the contact, and he opens his bloodshot brown eyes to stare at the blond who has scrambled closer and presses his forehead against Patroclus’s knuckles. 

“Hades had -- he had a knife to your neck, and I didn’t dare do anything to risk your safety.” the warrior stammered, so frantic in his explanation that he stumbled over his own words, “My love, my  _ Patroclus _ , I am famed for being the strongest of the Greeks, but I’m… I’m so weak. I couldn’t keep you safe in life and... and I woke in Elysium without you by my side, your name had not been carved on our grave and I  _ despaired _ . You didn’t get your eternal peace, because of  _ me.  _ Everything…  _ everything  _ was my fault. 

“Then -- then Hades called for me, he said you had  _ finally  _ been allowed to pass on to the underworld, b-but because of your transgressions as a child you were being sent to Tartarus. H-he offered me a deal, a deal I could not refuse. You would take my place in Elysium and I would serve the House of Hades.” Achilles was openly crying now, and Patroclus could count on one hand the number of times that he had seen the man show such frailty. “I  _ ached,  _ for you, my love. There was not a moment that I did not think of you and wish for you to be in my arms, but I could not risk the wrath of the God of the Underworld, not with you at risk. I could do nothing,  _ please,  _ my love, you  _ have  _ to understand.” 

And Patroclus did understand, he truly did. But he thinks if he were in Achilles’ shoes, he would’ve fought tooth and nail to be with his love once again, and to know that he had just rolled over immediately… by the gods did it sting. His hurt was such a gaping chasm in his chest he found it hard to put into words. “Do you…” he began, licking his lips before beginning again, “do you have  _ any  _ idea what it was like, to be left behind by you,  _ again.  _ To not have any idea where you were, only that you had abandoned me.” Achilles opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, but Patroclus gave him a tired  _ look  _ and he solemnly let him continue. “I faced the wrath of gods to try and find  _ anything  _ on where you were. I searched for you for  _ years,  _ till I could no longer and had to give up all hope. And now, I learn that you knew where I was the  _ entire  _ time. And yet you didn’t even… try to send me a message, or a sign, or  _ anything.” _

Achilles bowed his head, and squeezed his hand tightly, “I... have hurt and betrayed you in ways that I will never be able to atone for. But -- but I’m here now,” he said in a hysteric hopeful sort of way, manically rubbing his thumb against the bump of Patroclus’s wrist. “I’m  _ here,  _ and I will continue to be here until you tell me you wish otherwise.”

He was silent for a long, long moment. “I don’t think I can forgive you, Achilles...” he finally said. 

Achilles shuttered, squeezing his eyes shut and nodding his head once. He let go of Patroclus’s hand like it was the hardest thing he had ever done, “I-I understand,” he whispered in one breath, like he wasn’t able to get the air needed to speak and made a jerked movement to stand. 

“But,” Patroclus continued, biting his lip. Achilles’ head snapped up, and hope shined in his bright sea-green eyes. “I… I want to try,” he finished, feeling hollowed out and vulnerable. 

“I would like that,” the strongest of the Greeks said softly, like he was afraid if he talked too loudly the moment would shatter. 

And for the first time in a long time, Patroclus smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently there are seven steps to forgiveness, which are Acknowledge, Consider, Accept, Determine, Repair, Learn, Forgive and I was originally going to do seven chapters reflecting that but I'm lazy so we doing three chapters instead and one of those chapters is basically just gonna be porn so..... lol  
> I really really hope y'all didn't think Patroclus was being whiny or ungrateful or anything but I think it might've come across that way so OOP regardless I hope y'all like it and please tell me what you think!  
> (also I have run out of patrochilles fics and if any of y'all have any recommendations please feel free to tell me about them cause a girl is DESPERATE lol)


End file.
